[LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


AND  AFTER  WAR  D5 
SOME  CLOTHES" 


SHADOWS 


COPYRIGHT    1897    BY    COPELAND    AND    DAY 


TO  THE   MEMORY 
OF  MY  FATHER 


CONTENTS 


The  Orchestra  i 

For  the  Night  3 

Interpretation  5 

"  Where  it  li^teth  "  7 

The  Lark  Songs  8 

Retrospect  9 

The  Death  10 

The  Horizon  at  Sea  12 

Patri  et  Amico  i  3 

The  Sunrise  1  3 

The  Travellers  14 

Heirs  of  the  Years  16 

A  Winter  Elegy  18 

At  the  Heart  20 


The  Field-day  21 

The  Helmsman  23 

The  Paths  24 

Goldenrod  26 

A  Tree  26 

Symbols  2  8 

The  Sea  Voice  29 

The  Poet's  Door  30 

By  the  Shore  31 

Before  the  Snow  33 

Song  34 

Proportion  3  5 

With  a  Hand-glass  to  a  Lady  36 

"When  my  Ship  comes  in"  37 

The  Long  Shadows  38 

Unconquered  39 

A  Treasure  House  40 

In  an  Old  Book  of  Plays  41 

To  William   Morris  42 


Quatrains 

Distinction  1 1 

The  Baconian  Age  1 z 

The  First  of  Spring  25 

"Whom  the  Gods  love"  34 

Of  Elizabethan  Poets  43 

Weeping  Willows  43 

A   Gala  Day  44 

Revelation  44 

"Hoar-frost  like  Ashes"  44 

Winter  Beauty  45 

Lesbia's  Sparrow  :  from  Catullus  45 

The  Song  to  the  Singer  47 


f.OY  and  love  and  sorrow  fare 
By  the  roadway  all  men  share  ; 
Fleet  of  foot  they  pass  us  by, 
Yet  their  image  lingers  nigh. 

How  may  shadow  truly  stay 
When  the  substance  goes  its  way  ? 

Bind  it  captive  unto  speech, 

Words  and  shadow,  each  with  each  • 

Bid  them  blend  into  a  song. 

So  these  shadows  rest  —  how  long  ? 

THE    ORCHESTRA 

)N   the  mountain's  morning  side 
?The  players,  all  in  feathered  coats, 
/On  tree-tops  swing,  in  thickets  hide, 
And  sound  preliminary  notes. 

The  violinists  here  and  there 

Tune  all  their  many  strings  unseen  j 

Long  sloping  tones  are  in  the  air, 
With  pizzicato  bits  between. 


Hark  !  'tis  a  flute's  roulade  so  near 
That  revels  gay  and  unafraid  ! 

And  there  !  the  clarinet  rings  clear 
Its  mellow  trill  from  yonder  glade. 

The  gentle  tappings  of  a  drum 

Sound  where  the  beeches  thinner  grow  ; 
Nearer  a  humorist  is  come 

Upon  his  droll  bassoon  to  blow. 

And  now  a  'cello  from  afar 

Breathes  out  its  human,  dim  appeal  — 
A  voice  as  from  a  distant  star 

Where  mortals  work  their  woe  and  weal. 

Then  down  a  sylvan  aisle  I  gaze, 
And  to  my  musing  sense  it  seems 

A  leader  mounts  a  log,  and  sways 
His  baton  like  a  man  of  dreams. 

And  here  behold  a  marvel  wrought  ! 

For  marshalled  in  a  concord  sweet 
The  blending  fragments  all  are  brought 

To  tune  and  harmony  complete. 


Is  it  a  masterpiece  that  men 

Have  heard  before  —  and  found  it  good  ? 
Is  this  the  Rheinland  o'er  again  ? 

Am  I  with  Siegfried  in  the  wood  ? 

Nay  —  for  this  priceless  hour  'tis  mine 
To  share  with  Nature's  audience 

A  symphony  too  rare  and  fine 
For  skill  of  human  instruments. 

Leader,  what  music  hast  thou  stirred  ! 

Players,  still  heed  him  every  one  ! 
And  God  be  thanked  for  every  bird 

That  sings  beneath  the  May-day  sun  ! 


FOR  THE  NIGHT 
ilVE  me  of  all  thy  weariness,  O  day  I 
jLet  body,  mind,  and  spirit  so  be  spent 
(That  when   death's  herald-brother, 
sleep,  is  sent, 

Resistless,  I  may  yield  me  to  his  sway 
Till  the  black  silence  lulls  me  to  content. 
3 


Then  let  the  dark  fall  like  a  total  shroud, 
And  fold  me  in  till  day  again  is  bright, 
Not  lifting  with  the  gray  retreat  of  night, 
To  leave  me  lying  mute  before  the  crowd 
Of    gliding     shapes    that    steal     upon     my 
sight. 

Dread  ghosts  are  they  of  all  my  deeds  mis- 
done 

And  words  unspoken  ;  shield  my  wakeful 
bed 

From  hours  of  dawn  when  most  they  rear 
their  head, 

To  whisper  me  of  ungrasped  moments 
gone, 

To  mock  my  impotence  now  all  is  sped. 

Nor  give  me  dreams,  for  they  will  lead  my 

feet 
To  walk  in  paths  wherefrom   I  needs  must 

turn 
For  streets  of  day  ;   and  though   in  sleep  I 

spurn 

4 


Their  semblances,  and  vaguely  scoff  the  cheat, 
Yet  when  the  parting  comes,  the  heart  will 
burn. 

Nay,  as  if  under  Death's  dark  still  caress, 

New  courage  silently  would  I  attain 

To  fight  the  new  day's  fight  —  and  not  in 

vain, 

If  from  its  hours  I  win  fresh  weariness, 
To  make  me  ready  for  the  night  again. 

INTERPRETATION 
iHESE  gentle  lines  of  Nature's  face 
|  Are  like  a  living  face  I  love, 
And    keen    mine  eyes  have    grown 
to  trace 
What  signs  soe'er  across  it  move. 

To  stranger  eyes  a  peace  serene 

Broods  over  all,  from  east  to  west  ; 

For  them  'tis  as  a  painted  scene  ; 
For  me  it  quivers  with  unrest. 
5 


Now  on  the  waters  something  stirs  — 
A  sail,  a  breeze,  a  flotsam  thing  ; 

Now  from  the  point  of  junipers 

The  birds  fly  out  on  seaward  wing. 

Across  the  fields  slow  creatures  stray, 
The  shadows  up  the  hillside  run  ; 

And  lo  !   through  all  the  changeful  day 
The  miracles  of  wind  and  sun. 

The  signal  colors  of  the  year 

Are  mine  to  watch  with  heedful  eye  ; 
The  gradual  seasons  drawing  near 

Claim  vigilance  and  constancy. 

Unseen  or  clear  the  changes  fall, 

And  Nature's  face  that  seems  so  still 

Is  full  of  motion  mystical 

And  boding  signs  for  good  or  ill. 

But  ah  !  the  spirit  hid  within  — 

When  shall  I  learn  its  ways  to  trace  ? 

The  subtler  skill  when  shall  I  win, 
And  learn  to  read  that  living  face  ? 
6 


"WHERE  IT  LISTETH" 

) HE  wind  is    like  a  ravening  beast 
^to-night, 

,Mad  for  its  prey  and  howling  down 
the  trail ; 

I  hear  without  its  baffled  snarl  and  bite, 
And  feel  the  shouldering  of  its  fierce  assail, 
Shaking  the  rooted  walls  with  hideous  din, 
And   hoarse,    as   one  with   shouting,    "  Let 
me  in  !  " 

Ah,    ye   who  watch   this   night   where  sick 

men  lie, 

Shelter  their  sleep  as  shrewdly  as  ye  may  ! 
So  easily  this  blast  that  rushes  by 
Might  snatch  a  fitful  breath  and  whirl  away 
Into  the  blackness  with  it  —  on  and  on  : 
"Whither,"  we  cry,  "oh,  whither  hath  it 

gone  ? ' ' 


THE    LARK    SONGS 
)T  was  not  thou  alone  I  heard, 
First   lark    that   sang   from    English 
[skies, 

And  to  mine  ears  seemed  less  a  bird 
Than  chorister  of  Paradise. 

Full  sweet  from  heaven  thy  music  fell, 
Yet  with  it  came  two  voices  more, 

Two  songs  that  blent  with  thine  to  tell 
The  praise  I  knew  of  thee  before. 

Thy  truth  to  home  and  heaven  sang  one  — 
And  Wordsworth's  note  serene  and  strong, 

With  earth  and  sky  in  unison, 
Made  of  thy  flight  itself  a  song. 

The  other  blither  strain  I  caught 

Bore  never  a  message  but  "  Rejoice  "  — 

Song  of  thy  very  song,  methought, 
Exultant  with  thine  own  glad  voice. 


And  unto  this,  I  knew  not  how, 

Rose  answer  from  the  sons  of  men  : 
"  The  world  is  listening,  Shelley,  now, 
As  thou  didst  listen  then." 

RETROSPECT 

?HE  stately  pile  I  passed  to-day  was 
|  marred 

With  dust  and  shattered  glass  and 
school-boy  scrawls 

Of  chalk  defacing  all  the  lower  walls  ; 
But   from  beyond  I  looked  and  saw  them 

not  — 

Only  the  pinnacles  gleamed  heavenward. 
To-night  I  think  on  one  beloved,  and  dead, 
And  marvel  at  the  nothings  once  so  grave. 
Now  banners   of  his    strength  above    them 

wave, 

Now  are  the  lower  earth-stained  walls  for 
got  5 
The  glorious  towers  are  shining  overhead. 


THE   DEATH 
SHUDDER  not  when  back  I  bend 

My  thought  on  life's  first   painful 
breath  ; 

Nor  will  I  tremble  for  the  end  — 
The  last  is  only  death. 

To  fear  this  death  would  shame  my  birth, 

Yet  lowers  a  death  I  fear  to  die  — 
Even  before  our  inn,  the  earth, 
Has  place  for  me  to  lie. 

It  shall  overtake  me  when  the  face 

Of  spring  or  winter  speaks  no  word, 
When  winds  and  waters  stir  apace 

And  naught  but  sound  is  heard. 

When  walking  in  the  silent  wood 
I  find  no  spirit  breathing  there, 
No  presence  in  the  solitude 

Else  spreading  everywhere. 


It  shall  befall  when,  deaf  to  hear 

And  dumb  to  speak  what  heart  tells  heart, 
Through  one  long  winter  of  the  year 
I  fare  from  friends  apart. 

When  noble  music,  tale,  or  deed 

Warms  not  the  blood  to  swifter  flow, 
When  numb  alike  to  art  and  need 
In  dull  content  I  grow  :  — 

This  were  the  dread  and  inmost  fate, 

And  burial  were  the  end  thereof, 
Should  dearth  of  loving,  known  too  late, 
Lose  me  the  way  to  love. 

DISTINCTION 

I  HE  village  sleeps,  a  name  unknown, 
itill  men 

With    life-blood  stain    its  soil,  and 
pay  the  due 

That  lifts  it  to  eternal  fame,  — for  then 
'Tis  grown  a  Gettysburg  or  Waterloo. 
ii 


THE    HORIZON    AT    SEA 
LINE  inexorably  straight, 
In  larger  truth,  a  girdling  ring, 
Fixed  either  way  as  firm  as  fate, 
And  always  onward  beckoning. 

Clear-cut  and  far,  or  near  and  blurred, 
As  powers  of  sun  and  cloud  decree, 

By  these  thy  provocations  stirred, 
We  seek  the  farthest  mystery. 

Emblem  of  boundaries  strictly  set, 

Emblem  of  venturous  search  and  hope, 

Circled  by  thee  can  man  forget 
His  limitation  and  his  scope  ? 

THE    BACONIAN    AGE 

)OW    is    the    sum    of    Shakespeare 

^naught ! 

(Lights  out  —  farewell  to  clown  and 
hero  ! 
Since  ciphers  were  by  all  men  sought, 

What  has  been  found  at  last  but  —  zero  ? 


PATRI    ET    AMICO 
I 

THE    SUNRISE 

;LOW  out  the  candle,  day  is  come  ; 
The  watchers  need  no  other  light 
(Than  that  which  floods  the  solemn 
room 
Where  life  is  passing  with  the  night. 

Across  the  smiling  acres  green, 

Across  the  point,  the  bay,  the  hills, 

Strong,  like  the  soul  that  loved  the  scene, 
The  tide  of  dawn  the  chamber  fills. 

Blow  out  the  candle  —  small  his  care 
Whose  mortal  light  burns,  ah  !  so  dim  ; 

Haply  his  vision  opens  where 

The  eternal  sunrise  shines  for  him. 

Yes,  day  is  bright  about  his  bed, 

And  night  has  vanished  with  his  breath. 

Lo  !  on  his  face,  all  shadows  fled, 
The  morning  majesty  of  death. 
13 


II 

THE    TRAVELLERS 

HEY  made  them  ready  and  we  saw 

tahem  go 

'  Out  of  our  very  lives  $ 
Yet  this  world  holds  them  all, 
And  soon  it  must  befall 
That  we  shall  know 

How  this  one  fares,  how  that  one  thrives  ; 
And  one  day  —  who  knows  when  ? 
They  shall  be  with  us  here  again. 

Another  traveller  left  us  late 

Whose  life  was  as  the  soul  of  ours  ; 

A  stranger  guest  went  with  him  to  the  gate, 

And  closed  it  breathing  back    a  breath    of 

flowers. 

And  what  the  eyes  we  loved  now  look  upon, 
What  industries  the  hands  employ, 
In  what  new  speech  the  tongue  hath  joy, 
We  may  not  know  —  until  one  day, 
And  then  another,  as  our  toil  is  done, 


The  same  still  guest  shall  visit  us, 

And  one  by  one 

Shall  take  us  by  the  hand  and  say, 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  country  marvellous, 

Where  he  has  dwelt  so  long  beyond  your 

sight. 

'Twere  idle  waiting  for  his  own  return 
That  ne'er  shall  be  ;  face  the  perpetual  light, 
And  with  him  learn 
Whatever  the  heavens  unfold  of  knowledge 

infinite." 

Each  after  each  then  shall  we  rise, 
And   follow   through    the   stranger's  secret 

gate, 

And  we  shall  ask  and  hear,  beyond  surmise, 
What  glorious  life  is  his,  since  desolate 
We  stood  about  the  bed 
Where  our  blind  eyes  looked  down  on  him 

as  dead. 


Ill 

HEIRS    OF    THE    YEARS 

JEIRS  of  the  years, 

.How  shall  we  bind  our  heritage 

.About  our  souls  so  fast 
That  thieving  time,  well  skilled  to  dry  our 

tears, 

Must  leave  untouched  our  riches  of  the  past, 
Nor  send  us  dowerless  down  the  road  to  age  ? 

"What  dearer  wealth  had  we 

Than  that  our  walk  fell  sometime    by  the 

side 

Of  those  rare  spirits  who  no  more  abide 
"Where  our  poor  weeks  and  hours  are  told  ? 
Forth  from  the  bolder  day, 
When  the  gray  century  was  young  and  free, 
One  brought  a  heart  that  ne'er  grew  old, 
That  loved,  and  knew  not  fear, 
And  sped  us  strengthened  on  our  parted  way. 
One  from  the  decades  near 
Garnered  all  manfulness  and  cheer, 
16 


Plucked  from  the  age  that  waits  unknown 
Great  hopes  and  pledges  of  the  things  to  be. 
His  should  have  been  the  captaincy, 
And  he  the  mark 

Shining  to  lead  us  through  the  dark 
That  fronts  us  now  alone. 

Nay,  must  they  perish  utterly  from  earth 

Because  their  faces  fade  from  view  ? 

Death  —  they  had  told  us  —  is  another  birth  ; 

If  but  their  death 

Might  breathe  into  our  lives  a  fuller  breath 

Of  life,  and  quicken  us  anew 

With  their  blent  might  of  age  and  youth, 

Their  quiet  valor  for  the  truth  ! 

Then,  wheresoe'er  they  are, 

They  would  look  down,  it  may  be,  on  our 

star, 

And  feel  some  fragment  of  their  life  lived  on, 
And  know  they  are  not  truly  gone 
From  out  this  world  of  men. 
17 


And,  haply,  then, 

Heirs  of  the  years,  we  shall  have  won 

Our  heritage  from  loss, 

Our  gold  from  all  the  dimness  of  the  dross. 

A  WINTER  ELEGY 

J.     F.     H. 

3O  walk  beside  this  winter  shore 
)Was  not  for  his  young  feet ; 
Of  summer  learned  he  all  his  lore, 
Smiling  from  life's  wide-opened  door, 
A  summer  world  to  greet. 

This  icy  channel's  narrowed  span 

'Twas  not  for  him  to  know  ; 
His  current,  widening  as  it  ran, 
Still  smoothly  spreads  as  it  began, 
Free  from  our  frost  and  snow. 

Like  sails  of  shallops  overset, 
The  floes  of  ice  are  borne 
18 


Along  a  tide  he  knew  not  yet 
Whose  boat  no  chilling  blasts  had  met, 
Where  Hope's  brave  flag  is  torn. 

Now  he  is  gone,  I  would  not  find 

These  waters  summer-fair, 
Girt  round  with  meadows  bland  and  kind  j 
The  rigors  of  the  winter  wind 

Better  befit  our  care. 

Yet  sometimes  on  the  snow-wrapped  hill 

A  light  at  evening  lies, 
Tender  beyond  the  summer's  skill  :  — 
What  light,  I  wonder,  fairer  still, 

Gladdens  his  absent  eyes  ? 

And    sometimes,    touched    by    winter's 

breath, 

I  thrill  with  wakened  powers. 
"  Youth  still  is  his,"  a  whisper  saith  ; 
"  That  searching  spirit  found  not  death, 
But  life  —  more  life  than  ours." 
'9 


AT  THE  HEART 

J HE  heart  is  but  a  narrow  space 

paltriness  to  find  a  place  ; 
But  in  its  precincts  there  is  room 
Sufficient  unto  bliss  or  doom. 
The  certainties,  so  few,  are  there, 
The  doubts  that  feed  the  soul  with  care  ; 
The  passions  battling  with  the  will 
To  guide  their  liege  to  good  or  ill  $ 
The  saving  grace  of  reverence, 
The  saving  hatred  of  pretence  ; 
The  sympathy  of  common  birth 
With  all  the  native  things  of  earth  : 
The  love  begun  with  life,  the  love 
That  years  diminish  not,  nor  move  ; 
And  —  more  in  such  a  narrow  space  ?  — 
The  image  of  a  woman's  face. 


THE    FIELD-DAY 
YELLOW  banner  first  was  seen 
Where  every  willow  stood, 
Long,  long  before  a  hint  of  green 
Had  touched  the  hillside  wood. 

Then,  as  if  autumn  had  come  back, 

A  glow  of  red  returned 
To  all  the  maple  branches  black, 

Whereon  a  dark  fire  burned. 

"  Form,  companies  and  regiments  ;  " 

'Twas  this  the  signals  said  ; 
Full  well  the  trees  knew  why  and  whence 

The  royal  mandate  sped. 

The  marching  orders  of  the  year 

Had  come  to  them  at  last  ; 
The  field-day  of  the  spring  was  near, 

The  winter  bivouac  past. 

In  suits  of  green  they  decked  them  out, 
Like  Robin  Hood's  brave  band  ; 


The  May  winds  rallied  with  a  shout, 
The  warm  sun  lit  the  land. 

The  orchard  trees  must  lead  the  van 
With  banners  pink  and  white  ; 

And  so  they  gathered  clan  by  clan, 
And  formed  their  lines  aright. 

Then  was  the  great  commander  heard, 
And  the  order  came  to  march  ; 

And  music  fell  from  every  bird 
Beneath  the  heavens'  high  arch. 

From  street  and  lane  and  park  and  field, 
From  road  and  hill  and  shore, 

The  great  green  army  wound  and  wheeled 
Across  the  world  once  more. 


THE  HELMSMAN 
|HAT  shall  I  ask  for  the  voyage  I 
)must  sail  to  the  end  alone  ? 
jSummer  and   calms  and   rest  from 
never  a  labor  done  ? 
Nay,  blow,  ye  life-winds  all  ;  curb  not  for 

me  your  blast, 
Strain  ye  my  quivering  ropes,  bend  ye  my 

trembling  mast. 
Then  there  can  be  no  drifting,  thank  God  ! 

for  boat  or  me,  — 

Strenuous,  swift,  our  course  over  a  living  sea. 
Mine  is  a  man's  right  arm  to  steer  through 

fog  and  foam  ; 
Beacons  are  shining  still  to  guide  each  farer 

home. 
Give  me  your  worst,  O  winds  !  others  have 

met  the  stress  ; 
E'en  if  it  be  to  sink,  give  me  no  less,  no  less. 


THE    PATHS 

|HERE  end  the   journeys  all    must 
wmake 

)They  met  who  once  together  walked, 
And  in  the  stillness  few  may  break 
Thus  each  to  each  they  talked  : 

' '  Alas  the  weary  way  I  took  ! 
Because  no  turning  hid  the  end 
I  thought  it  near,  and  so  forsook 
Thee  and  thy  wisdom,  friend. 

"I  thought  it  near  —  but  oh,  the  length 
Of  that  unbroken,  burning  road, 
The  thirst,  the  pain,  my  failing  strength 
As  'neath  a  giant's  load  ! 

"  Had  I  but  known  —  yet  heed  me  not  ! 
God  grant  thou  wast  not  so  forgot  ! ' ' 

"  My  path —  I  saw  not  clearly  where 
It  led,  nor  knew  the  end  of  it  ; 

24 


But  cool  it  strayed  by  pastures  fair 
And  meads  where  peace  had  lit. 

"  Now  through  a  pleasant  wood  it  bent, 
And  now  a  laughing  stream  led  on, 
And  birds  were  singing  as  we  went,  — 
For  I  was  not  alone. 

"  Ah,  would  the  ending  still  were  far  ! 
Too  soon  it  came  — too  soon  the  day 
Of  joy  was  done  ;  yet  shines  a  star  !  — 
I  journeyed  by  Love's  Way  !  " 

And  mark  ye,  men,  in  field  and  town,  — 
From  all  the  world  two  paths  lead  down. 

THE    FIRST    OF    SPRING 
SHAT  jingling  tumult  spans  the  air 
jFrom    where  the   brook   runs   swift 
Jand  bright  ?  — 
The  host  of  hylas  piping  there, 

Or  winter's  sleigh-bells  faint  with  flight  ? 


GOLDENROD 

,EFORE  the  day  light  yields  to  con 
quering  night, 

1  Death-faint,   yet  with  a  dying  war 
rior's  might, 

It  struggles  god-like  'gainst  the  sullen  foe, 
And  all  the  west  with  conflict  fierce  aglow 
Is  edged  with  quivering  rays  of  brighter  hue 
Than  morning's  opening  rose  or  midday's 
blue. 

And  dying  summer,  loath  to  lay  aside 
Its  customed  many-colored  robe  of  pride, 
With  the  last  effort  of  a  vanquished  god, 
Skirts  all  its  fields  and  roads  with  goldenrod. 

A    TREE 

LOWN  all  one  way  I  saw  it  stand 
Forth  from  its  fellows  of  the  wood 
That  faced    the   sea-winds    on    the 
strand, 

A  tall,  unflinching  brotherhood. 
26 


Compassed  by  them,  it  might  have  grown 
In  strength  and  symmetry  like  theirs, 

Not  leaning  landward  now  alone, 

Like  one  unfriended,  bent  with  cares. 

The  winds  had  shaped  it,  —  so  I  mused, 
And  gathered  round  I  seemed  to  see 

The  forms  of  creatures,  storm-blown,  bruised, 
Resting  beneath  their  kinsman  tree. 

Some  were  the  men  bent  all  one  way 
By  blasts  of  bitterness  and  wrong, 

Doomed  to  a  single-handed  fray, 
Too  weak  to  meet  a  foe  so  strong. 

The  winds  of  poverty  and  loss 

Of  all  that  man  counts  dear  on  earth  — 
Whether  the  gold  be  gold  or  dross  — 

Had  shapen  some  to  forms  of  dearth. 

And    those    there  were  whose    backs    were 

bowed 

By  breezes  they  had  thought  all  fair  j 
27 


Prospered  and  loved  too  much,  they  showed 
Distorted  as  the  ugliest  there. 

Alien  to  joy,  to  sorrow  near, 

The  subtler  pains  most  subtly  felt, 

All  the  sad  company  was  here, 

Wherein  misforming  grief  had  dwelt. 

And  now  the  wind-bent  tree  is  more 
Than  tree  unto  mine  inmost  ken, 

For  in  its  image  by  the  shore 

I  see  the  world-bent  forms  of  men. 

SYMBOLS 

?VER  against  the  resting  place 
( Where  lie  a  mighty  city's  countless 
(dead, 

Who  will  may  buy  two  wares  : 
Flowers,  to  deck  a  deep  and  narrow  bed  ; 
Marble,  to  stand  for  aye  at  feet  and  head  ; 
Flowers  —  for  every  fairest  thing  must  die  j 
Marble  —  to  be  outlived 
By  life  enduring  through  eternity. 
28 


THE  SEA   VOICE 

JP  from  the  harbor  side, 

fOver   the    city's    midmost    hush  of 

/night, 

Swells,  like  a  flooding  tide, 

The  insistent  voice  of  some  great  ship, 

Deep-throated,  as  a  man  of  might, 

Calling,  perchance,  new  greeting  to  the  land 

Now  safe  at  hand  ; 

Or  it  may  be  with  bugle  at  her  lip, 

Seaward  she  flings  the  first  far-reaching  cry 

Of  that  vast  speech  of  hers,  whereby 

She  sounds  her  way  from  strand  to  strand, 

Through  ocean's  fog  and  storm  and  mystery. 

Housed  safe  ashore,  deep  down 
Beneath  the  mountain  clamor  of  the  town, 
Never  by  day  comes  clear  to  me 
That  rough  old  voice  of  the  sea. 
Only  in  chance-caught  silences  men  hear, 
As  if  by  night,  the  ages'  tale,  — 
All  are  but  dwellers  by  a  shore, 
29 


Mariners  waiting  their  command  to  sail 

Forth    on    the    uncharted    sea    each   must 
i 


explore, 
So  strange  a  sea,  so  near. 


THE    POET'S    DOOR 
SITHIN  the  circle  of  the  light 

sat  alone,  and  all  the  room 
iBeyond  the  lamp  was  full  of  night 
And  hung  about  with  shadowed  gloom. 

With  love  and  music  in  his  voice 
He  read  me  from  his  lyric  page 

The  sweetest  numbers  of  his  choice, 
Songs  of  a  blended  youth  and  age. 

Then  telling  forth  another's  song, 
Music  and  love  rang  doubly  clear  ; 

The  same  soft  cadence  on  his  tongue 
Brought  distant  minstrelsy  so  near. 

And  to  the  doorway,  strange  and  dim, 
I  thought  a  mystic  presence  came 
30 


With  glowing  mien,  and  gazed  at  him 
That  read,  and  gently  spoke  his  name, 

And  said,  "  Hail,  fellow  soul  of  man, 
For  here  thy  kindred  voice  at  last 

Fulfils  the  song  I  once  began  ;  " 

Then  back  into  the  darkness  passed. 

BY   THE    SHORE 
i  OWN-BELLS  over  the  land, 
!  Fog-bells  over  the  sea  ; 
On  the  beach  between  in  the  mist  I 
stand, 
And  each  bell  calls  to  me. 

Out  of  the  fog  I  hear  : 

"  Come,  I  am  cool  and  sweet  ; 

My  veil  shall  wrap  thee  away  from  fear, 

My  paths  shall  rest  thy  feet. 

tc  Come  as  the  ship  that  came 
Into  me  on  a  morn  of  gray  ; 
31 


Follow  it,  naming  Love's  dear  name, 
And  find  what  it  bore  away. 

"  Find  ?     Yes,  so  it  may  chance  ; 

Yet  come  for  the  respite's  sake  ; 

Enough  that  I  pledge  you  my  ocean's  trance 

And  oblivion  —  come,  and  take  !  " 

And  the  land  bells  ring  me  :    "  Here, 
Here  are  the  fixed  and  true  ; 
We  ring  for  the  lifted  mists,  the  clear 
Sure  noons  of  gleaming  blue. 

' '  Out  into  the  day  we  call 
You  and  your  peers,  like  men, 
Girt  as  ye  are,  to  win  and  fall, 
And  falling  to  win  again. 

"  Strength  is  yours  for  a  shield  ; 
Take  heart,  and  grasp  it  fast  ! 
Come,  and  bear  from  the  hard-fought  field 
The  guerdon  of  love  at  last  !  " 
32 


On  the  beach  in  the  mist  I  stand, 
And  voices  are  calling  me,  — 
Town-bells  over  the  land, 
Fog-bells  over  the  sea. 

BEFORE  THE  SNOW 

HE  yellow  flame  of  goldenrod 
Is  spent,  and  by  the  road  instead, 
The  flowers,  like  smoke-wreaths  o'er 
the  sod, 

Hang  burned  and  dead. 

The  sumac  cones  of  crimson  show 

Beyond  the  roadside,  black  and  charred  ; 
The  trees,  a  bloodless,  ashen  row, 
Stand  autumn-scarred. 

Dark  are  the  field-fires  of  the  year  ; 

Let  all  the  flickering  embers  die  ! 
Without,  the  cold  white  days  are  near  ; 

Within  are  warmth  —  and  you,  and  I. 


33 


SONG 

S  it  that  I  am  poor  in  love  ? 
Nay,  dear,  unless  it  be 
My  poverty,  forsooth,  I  prove 
By  love  for  none  but  thee. 

Is  it  through  wealth  of  love  that  men 

Can  see  the  first  fires  die, 
And  give  their  hearts  again,  again  ? 

Then  thrice  a  pauper  I  ! 

But  since  to  thee  I've  given  all 
That,  rich  or  poor,  was  mine, 

I  can  abide  whatever  befall 

The  gift,  dear,  now  'tis  thine. 

"WHOM    THE    GODS    LOVE" 

[HOM  the  gods  love  die  young"  j 

—  if  gods  ye  be, 

^Then    generously  might    ye  have 
spared  to  us 

One  from  your  vast  unnumbered  overplus, 
One  youth  we  loved  as  tenderly  as  ye. 
34 


PROPORTION 
jHERE  rose  a  star  above  the  hill 
^Across  the  bay  ; 

.  Through  the  night-spaces  vast  and 
still 

Shone  the  great  ray  ; 
Beneath  it  glowed  a  lesser  light 

By  mortal  lit, 

Yet  through  the  dark  a  path  as  bright 
Led  back  to  it. 

Here  in  the  day  a  bird  flies  by, 

Above  the  trees  $ 
On  other  vision  bent,  mine  eye 

Unheeding  sees. 
Was  it  a  distant  eagle's  wing 

That  clove  the  blue, 
Or  some  near  insect  harvesting 

The  honey's  dew  ? 

If  eyes  deceive,  then  let  my  soul 
See  clear  and  straight ; 
35 


Through  all  appearance,  part  and  whole, 

Stand  separate  ! 
Know,  soul,  what  things  are  near,  what  far, 

Sift  great  from  small  ; 
Seize,  soul,  —  whate'  er  the  visions  are,  — 

The  truth  in  all. 

WITH     A     HAND-GLASS     TO      A 

LADY 

)ET  not  my  looking  on  thee  once, 
(O  glass  ! 

'  Cloud  the  bright  visions  thou  art  yet 
to  see. 

My  image  wholly  from  thy  face  shall  pass, 
And  her  fair  beauty  daily  shine  on  thee. 
Tell  her  my  darkened  days  wouW  show  as 

bright 
Were  they  illumined  by  her  constant  light. 


36 


"WHEN    MY   SHIP    COMES    IN" 

SHEN   my  ship  comes  in,"    runs 
)the  young  man's  song, 
I"  What  brave  things  shall  I  do  — 
With   the  strength  of"   my   wealth    and    the 

joyous  throng 
Of  friends  stout -hearted  and  true  !  " 

He  watches  and  waits  'neath  storm  and  sun 
By  the  shore  of  his  life's  broad  sea, 

And  the  days  of  his  youth  are  quickly  run, 
Yet  never  a  sail  spies  he. 

"My   ship    has    gone    down!"  in    soberer 
strain 

Sings  the  man,  and  to  duty  turns. 
He  forgets  the  ship  in  his  toil  and  pain  j 

No  longer  the  young  hope  burns. 

Yet  again  he  stands  by  the  shore,  grown  old 
With  the  course  of  his  years  well  spent, 

And  far,  far  out  on  the  deep  —  behold  ! 
A  dim  ship  landward  bent. 

37 


No  banner  she  flies,  no  songs  are  borne 
From  her  decks  as  she  nears  the  land  5 

Silent,  with  sail  all  sombre  and  torn, 
She  is  safe  at  last  by  the  strand. 

And  lo  !  to  the  man's  old  age  she  has  brought 
Not  the  treasures  he  thought  to  win, 

But  honor,  content,  and  love  —  life-wrought, 
And  he  cries,  "  Has  my  ship  come  in  !  " 

THE  LONG   SHADOWS 
'ND  and  beginning  are  one, 
•  Westward   and   eastward  at  rising 
|  and  setting  of  sun, 
The  same  long  shadows  are  laid 
Prone  on  the  earth, 
Forth  from  the  graves  and  the  dwellings  of 

men  ; 

Brightest  and  darkest  and  vividest  then, 
The  low,  level  glories  of  sunlight  and  shade 
Cry,  "  Look,  how  the  hand  of  a  master  has 
painted  the  scene!  " 
38 


We,  at  the  death  and  the  birth, 

Stand  in  a  moment  of  light, 

Clearest  because  of  the  dark  that  shall  be  and 

has  been. 

Rearward  and  forward  the  long  shadow  falls. 
Whether  the  mystery  hidden  be  night 
Or  day,   there  is    something    all  silent  that 

calls  : 

"  Here  in  your  east  is  the  earth-light  begun  ; 
Here  in  your  west  lie  the  things  that  are  done  ; 
End  and  beginning  are  one." 

UNCONQUERED 

fIGH   o'er  the  city's  roofs  a  storm- 

rblown  gull, 

[Driven  landward  from  the  sea, 
Battles  against  the  winds  without  a  lull, 
Yet  inland  farther,  ever  back, 
Helpless  is  tossed  with  flying  rack  5 
But,  messenger  of  constancy  to  me, 
I  joy  to  see  him  facing  ocean  still,  — 


39 


As  beaten  souls  through  storm  and  night 
May  changeless  face  the  hidden  light 
By  Heaven-sent  power  and  strength  of  stead 
fast  will. 


A    TREASURE    HOUSE 
HE  poet's  song,  the  painter's  art, 
Are    richest    when     they    tell     but 
part; 


We  hear  the  sweetest  player,  and  thrill 
With  dreams  of  music  sweeter  still ; 

The  spring's  first  brightness  is  so  dear 
Because  we  feel  the  summer  near  ;  — 

Shall  I  not  love  my  love  the  more 
For  keeping  wealths  of  love  in  store  ? 


40 


IN    AN    OLD    BOOK    OF    PLAYS 
>N  the  far-off  time  of  Anne, 

In  the  play-book's  golden  age, 
jDid  some  modish  Betty  scan 
What  was  then  your  spotless  page  ? 
Did  you  drive  away  her  spleen, 

As  at  chocolate  she  sat  ? 
Did  she  weep  at  this  sad  scene, 
Did  she  laugh  and  blush  at  that  ? 

College  dons,  perhaps  by  Cam, 

Or  on  Isis'  classic  shore, 
Read  but  with  the  hope  to  damn 

What  your  flowing  numbers  bore. 
Rustic  critic,  Grub-street  wit, 

May  have  praised  you  long  ago  ; 
In  "the  public"  or  the  pit 

Did  your  fame  the  faster  grow  ? 

Have  you  known  the  green-room  band  — 

"  Comic  Coll  "  and  all  the  rest  ? 
Held  within  "  the  Bracey's  "  hand, 
41 


Have  you  heard  her  scold  and  jest  ? 
Old- World  player,  wit  and  belle  — • 

Sure  they  are  not  all  forgot  ? 
Naught  of  them,  alas  !   you  tell, 

They  are  gone  —  you  perish  not. 

TO    WILLIAM    MORRIS. 
i  H  Y  luckless  wanderers,  Poet,  sought 
*  a  land 

Of  timeless  ease,  where  aye  the  fields 
are  green, 
Where  flowers  know  not  the  touch  of  winter's 

hand, 
And    hills    and    valleys  glow  in  changeless 

sheen, 

Where  age  can  never  come,  and  love  is  queen. 
World-worn  we  too  seek  peace  and  sun-lit 

skies, 
And  find  —  thy  book  an  Earthly  Paradise 


OF    ELIZABETHAN    POETS 
>UR  later  singers  vaunt    their  new- 
{turned  lays, 

(Doubling,    they     say,    the    world's 
poetic  store  ; 
We    turn   to    pages    writ    in    Shakespeare's 

days, 

And  lo  !  the  songs    have  all    been  sung 
before. 

WEEPING    WILLOWS 

[HE  first  to  don  the  green  at  winter's 
}  death, 
Last,   ere  he  lives  again,  to   lay  it 

by,- 
Like    tears  are  ye,   that  spring  with  man's 

first  breath, 
And  loyally  attend  him  till  he  die. 


43 


A    GALA   DAY 
jEN  make  them  ready  for  the  pageant 
\bright 

JWith  banners,  robes,  and  panoply  of 
cost, 

Yet  cannot  hold  the  rain-cloud  of  a  night 
From   that  whereby  the  brilliance    all   is 
lost. 

REVELATION 

>UR  air  hangs  full  of  dust-specks  seen 
'by  none, 

1  Until  a  shaft  of  light,  as  from  a  bow, 
Pierces  its  arrowy  way  from  God's  clear  sun, 
And   shows  what    stuff  we're    breathing 
here  below. 

"HOAR-FROST    LIKE    ASHES" 
jN  autumn  field  gave  back  the  moon' s 
Iwan  smile  ; 

)Each  gazed  at  each,  like  lovers  pale 
and  fcir  ; 

44 


When  morning  came  and  wondering  laughed 

awhile, 
An  ashen  glory  lingered  everywhere. 

WINTER    BEAUTY 
[ERE  stands  a  parable  in  all  men's 
jsight  : 

['Mid  the  green  grass  yon  bowlder 
showed  but  gray. 
Now  snows  have  clasped  it  in  their  frame  of 

white,  — 
'Tis  green  with  lichens,  as  the  early  May. 

LESBIA'S    SPARROW 

FROM    CATULLUS 

OURN,   Goddesses    of  Love,   and 
\Cupids,  mourn, 

,And  men  of  gentler  mould  wher 
e'er  ye  be  ; 

My  sweetheart's  sparrow  hath  been  seized  by 
Death  — 

45 


The    sparrow,    darling    of  my  loved   one's 

heart, 
Which  she  was  wont  to  love  more  than  her 

eyes  ; 

For  he  was  sweet  as  honey  unto  her, 
And  knew  her  as  a  maid  her  mother  knows  ; 
Nor  from  her  bosom  was  he  fain  to  move, 
But  hopping   round   about,  now  here,    now 

there, 

He  piped  unto  his  mistress,  her  alone. 
And  now  along  the  darksome  road  he  goes 
Where  never  step,  men  say,  has  yet  turned 

back. 

Then  ill  betide  you,  wicked  shades  of  hell, 
Which  swallow  up  all  lovely  things  !   So  fair 
A  sparrow  have  ye  borne  away  from  her. 
The  evil  deed  is  done,  alas  !      Poor  bird, 
It  is  thy  fault  that  swollen  eyes  are  red 
Through  weeping,  —  that  my    loved  one's 

eyes  are  red. 


46 


THE    SONG    TO    THE    SINGER 
i  HEY  will  not  know  who  read  and 
|  sing 

What    you  and  I  know  who  have 
known 

How  fair  I  was  that  day  of  spring 
I  bade  you  mould  me  for  your  own. 

These  words  which  half  reveal  my  soul 
Are  how  much  more  to  you  and  me  ! 

Pellucid  beauties,  clear  and  whole, 
Behind,  around  them  all  we  see. 

Above  this  faltering  tune  that  tells 
The  measure  I  must  walk  within, 

For  us  a  sweeter  music  wells  — 

The  magic  lilt  that  should  have  been. 

Yet  this  is  better  than  to  die, 

And  you  had  joy  of  me  one  day  5 

Then  you  are  mine,  and  yours  am  I  — 
Who  likes  us  not  may  go  his  way. 

47 


THIS  BOOK  IS  PRINTED  BY  THE  ROCKWELL 
AND  CHURCHILL  PRESS  OF  BOSTON  DURING 
OCTOBER  1897 


A     000  674  477 


